The A Team
by totherightoftheroad
Summary: Kurt is a prostitute, filled with self-hatred. Blaine is an aspiring Broadway star who thinks very lowly of prostitution. The two are pulled together by a set of unusual circumstances. Will they be able to put their differences aside and open up to one another?
1. White Lips, Pale Face

Kurt's POV

Kurt leaned back against that familiar brick wall of that familiar alleyway, the familiar burn of cigarette smoke settled deep in his lungs. It was the dead of winter, and the air around him was foggy and cold. He was really not dressed for this weather, since covering his body proved to be detrimental to his sales, and he really didn't want to go a whole day without eating again.

He wore a pair of sinfully tight gold pants and a black v-neck, preferring to keep his chest exposed while working. Since high school, Kurt's body had really developed, and his muscles were more toned and visible now, something Kurt took had taken great pride in. Through his experience, Kurt had learned how to play up his best assets, v-necks quickly becoming a staple piece in his wardrobe. If the amount of times he was picked up today was any indication, the customers liked them, too.

He butted out his cigarette on the wall as he did each night, adding yet another ash circle to his collection. He laughed bitterly for a moment, Burt's voice in his head telling him to always make sure he had a fallback plan. Well, at least if prostitution didn't work out, he certainly had a budding art career, he thought, and he had a feeling that Georges Seurat would really approve of his work. As he examined the wall for a minute, he felt a breeze brush against his cheeks, waking him from his thoughts. His face was pale, eyes red-rimmed from a mix of cold and exhaustion, and his body was rigid from the chill of the night.

The weather, however, was not the first thing on Kurt's mind. He had just come back from his last job and his body ached horribly as it always did after a particularly busy work day. Through the years, he had learned he was better able to cope with his situation if he made up stories in his mind for why he was so sore, like an especially strenuous dance rehearsal or a yoga class that he and his successful husband had signed up for- but on days like today, where he still felt complete strangers inside of him, Kurt couldn't hide from the fact that this was his life. That he was nothing but a cheap whore.

He stood up, a shower on his mind, as he walked toward an apartment building across the street. It wasn't his, but it was the closest thing to a home that he had.

"Hi, Chan."

Kurt met Chandler through his work shortly after Chandler had moved to the city. At the time, he was a closeted gay man adjusting to his new life and he wanted to experiment for the first time. He had been gentle with Kurt, even allowing him the release that so many others had denied him, and for that Kurt was thankful. Chandler started picking Kurt up at least once every week, and he slowly became someone Kurt could confide in. One day, when Chandler found out that Kurt was sleeping on the street, he offered Kurt a place to stay in exchange for sexual favors, and seeing as Kurt had no better option, he agreed.

"Hey, Kurt. Rough day?" Chandler asking, running his hand down Kurt's arm.

"Something like that. I was just gonna take a shower," he gesticulated toward the bathroom door.

Chandler pouted, "Okay, but I want your mouth after." He said, pressing a finger to Kurt's lips for emphasis.

Kurt just nodded, before making his way to the bathroom. He dropped his soiled clothes at the door and began to run a hot shower, relaxing to the sound of the water pouring from the faucet. He ran his hand under the stream of water, feeling it go numb for a brief moment before it warmed up. Yes, a shower was long overdue.

He stepped into the small shower space, wincing at the sting of the hot water seeping into his cuts. He worried his lip between his teeth, ignoring the pain as he scrubbed the grime from his hair and fluids from his body. A pool of grayish liquid formed at the bottom of the shower around his feet as he felt the memories of the day wash away down the drain.

He discovered four finger-shaped bruises along each of his hip bones, replacing the ones that had mostly healed from the last week of work, and long, red scratches filing down his chest and thighs. It had not been the worst of work days. The men that day were gentle for the most part, other than the greasy bastard whose fingernails had made a maze of his body, and he didn't feel as dirty as usual. He felt just as used, but not as dirty. He had had more clients than usual, but they had paid well, which usually meant better hygiene and a preference for condoms.

He longed for the day when this would not be his life. He longed for the day where he would be held in a man's arms instead of held down by them. He wanted to feel happy, feel loved, but he knew that day would never come. No one would ever love someone like him. He was nothing but a filthy, used, whore. It had been a long night.

** Blaine's POV

Blaine made his way through Chelsea, Manhattan, attempting to wave down a taxi to take him home. He had spent the night out drinking, and at this point he was avoiding any and all open flames because he was certain that his breath could start a fire.

He climbed into the backseat of a cab whose driver was very familiar to him and groaned audibly.

"Nice to see you, too," the driver said, smirking as he glanced back at Blaine through the rearview mirror.

"Just t-take me'ome, Seb," he mumbled, leaning back against the window, his legs finding their way onto the middle console.

"Blaine! Don't you look awful? How much have you had to drink?" Sebastian asked, eying the curly-haired man who was settling into the back of his cab.

"Dammit, Seb, I needa get'ome," Blaine's head was spinning, and if he didn't get moving soon, he was afraid traces of the party would leave his stomach and find their way into the back of Sebastian's taxi.

Sebastian grinned, clearly amused by the state of his passenger, but eventually started the car when Blaine slapped the back of his head.

"It seems you've made quite the life for yourself without me, huh?" Sebastian asked, that familiar cocky smirk still present on his face.

"Yeah, you too," Blaine said sarcastically, giving Sebastian a once-over.

"I'm actually dating someone, Blaine. You, however, seem to have quite the love affair with alcohol. And I must say, you two make a really cute couple," he drawled.

Their relationship had not ended on good terms. Blaine had come home late one night from an off-Broadway musical rehearsal and found Sebastian having his way with a prostitute on their kitchen table. Needless to say their relationship ended quite soon after that discovery.

"Does this boyfr'nd of yours, h-happen to be a- be a whore?" Blaine asked, bitterness evident in the tone of his voice.

"Successful cellist, actually. He has an audition at Carnegie coming up. How's your career, though, Blaine? I'm dying to know if someone's made The Hobbit a musical yet, you'd be the perfect Bilbo Baggins." Sebastian said, pulling onto the street where Blaine lived.

"Mmm fuck off," Blaine mumbled, rolling his eyes. Sure, since his breakup with Sebastian the number of bottles in his fridge went up and number of auditions on his schedule went down, but he was still very present in the theatre community.

Sebastian laughed to himself. If what he had witnessed was any indication of how Blaine's career was doing, he would guess that Blaine was wrecked.

"We're here, Blaine. Get out!" Sebastian said, making it a point to slam on his breaks.

Blaine felt his stomach lurch as his head flew forward, hitting the headrest of the seat in front of him and he groaned deeply, "Hate you," he mumbled, stumbling out of the taxi uneasily.

"Have a good night, Bilbo!" Sebastian called out the window as he drove away.

Blaine flipped him off before fumbling with his keys, finally managing to get the door to his apartment open. He dragged his feet along the ground, balancing himself on the wall, before having a seat on the couch. Almost as soon as his head hit the cushion, he was asleep.

It had been a long night.


	2. Struggling to Pay Rent

I'm never going to drink again, Blaine thought for what would be the third time that week. It was already almost afternoon and he had been glued to the same spot on the couch since his arrival the night before. He might have gotten up to get breakfast if his legs had not ached so much, or if he had trusted his stomach to keep down food.

His limbs were splayed over the couch, his body contorted in a very unnatural position. One arm was slung over the back of the couch, the other snaking through the curls that were matted on his forehead. His clothes from last night remained on his body in various states of disarray, and he had somehow managed to kick his socks off in his sleep despite his shoes still being securely attached to his feet.

The light from the kitchen window flooded Blaine's eyes and did nothing to soothe his splitting headache. Instead of getting up to close the blinds, he flung a pillow over his eyes and groaned instead. And he fully planned to stay that way for the rest of the day until he heard his phone ring.

He swatted at it for a few minutes as if it were a bothersome fly buzzing in his ears, before he finally gave in. Groaning dramatically, he reached over the arm of the couch to grab his phone.

"What?" He asked, not even trying to hide his annoyance.

"Blaine?"

It only took Blaine a few minutes to register the voice on the other end.

"Dad?" He asked, his head jerking up. He quickly regretted this movement though, as his stomach reacted accordingly.

His dad never called him. Not unless he wanted-

"I need some money. Your mom's in the hospital again. Doctor says the tumor is getting worse. We just can't make ends meet over here anymore."

Blaine closed his eyes, swallowing hard, "Do you need me to come home?"

"No, no, no, you stay right there and work on- on being a big star or whatever. You know I hate to ask this of you."

Blaine rubbed his forehead. He didn't have the money to give. He could barely afford the rent on his apartment as it was. But this was his mother. He couldn't let his family down again, not any more than he already had.

"Okay, dad. How much do you need?"

After they had agreed on an amount, Blaine hung up the phone and dropped it in his lap. What the hell was he going to do? He was going to go back to sleep, that's what he was going to do.

Blaine pulled the pillow back over his face and curled into the back of the couch.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Blaine groaned loudly and finally managed to sit up enough to glare at the door, offended that it would dare interrupt his sleep.

"Go away!" He shouted, but his feet carried him to the door despite himself.

Just as soon as he opened it, he shut it once more, pushing back against it to keep the visitor out. Despite Blaine's best efforts, Sebastian forced open the door and strutted into Blaine's apartment with ease.

Blaine grimaced, "What do you want now?" He asked, as he took his place back on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Aw don't be that way, Blaine. It's not like I'm interrupting anything," he said, smirking at the mess in front of him.

Blaine said nothing, but self-consciously adjusted his clothing and the pile of blankets and pillows on the couch.

"You left your wallet in my cab." Sebastian finally said, tossing the wallet onto Blaine's lap.

Blaine looked up at the taller man and sighed, "Oh. Thank you." He said, quickly looking through it to make sure Sebastian hadn't stolen anything. When he discovered that everything was in place, he slid the wallet into his back pocket and pulled a blanket over his knees.

Sebastian nodded, leaning against the wall and looking down at Blaine. "Something's up." He said simply, as if he had been assessing Blaine for some time.

Blaine cursed Sebastian silently for being able to read him so well. If there was one thing Sebastian had learned from their relationship, it was the ability to tell when Blaine was upset. Perhaps because he was so often upset with him.

"Yeah, dad wants money again. Apparently mom's back in the hospital. I don't have any money, Seb! Not enough, at least. I'm a fuck up of a son. God I'm so screwed!" Blaine said, dragging the pillow back over his face.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and picked up the tissue box on Blaine's end table before throwing it at the smaller man.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"Stop pitying yourself and do something! You look fucking pathetic right now." Sebastian said, heading to Blaine's fridge.

"Always the empath." Blaine mumbled under his breath, as he set the box of tissues back on the table.

Sebastian grabbed one of the many mocha frappucinos that occupied Blaine's fridge. He quickly chugged its contents, before tossing the glass bottle at Blaine.

"You know I'm right," he chided, before sauntering back out the front door, making a point to slam it behind him as he went.

Blaine groaned at the loud noise and clutched his head tightly. As much as it killed him to admit it, Sebastian was right. He needed another job.

Kurt's POV

His first client of the day had arrived much earlier than normal. Almost as soon as he stepped outside of Chandler's apartment, he found himself stepping into somebody's car. Kurt recognized this man as a regular, more or less. The man was fairly big, but not overweight. He was tall, a few inches taller than Kurt, and his arms were covered in various tattoos. He was always rough with Kurt, which made him one of Kurt's least favorite regulars, but at least he was predictable. And he paid well.

That was how he ended up in a hotel room with his face pushed against a wall before 11 that morning.

"Yeah, take me whore!" The man shouted, pounding deep into Kurt, one meaty hand pressed into Kurt's cheek, holding his head in place and the other leaving more finger-shaped bruises on his left hip.

"You're such a slut for my cock aren't you? You love my cock up your tight ass?" The man breathed, as he pulled Kurt's hips towards him so that they met each of his thrusts.

Kurt cringed as the man's hot breath ghosted across his ear. He was too far gone to even hear what the guy was saying; he tried to block it out as much as he could, anyway.

"I asked you a question, slut! Be a good boy and answer me!" The man demanded, grip on Kurt's face tightening.

"Yes, I love it! Give it to me!" Kurt shouted as if it was second-nature.

A low, guttural sound erupted from the man's throat as he pounded into Kurt one last time. His nails dug deep into the skin on Kurt's waist as he reached his climax. Kurt whined at the feeling, rocking his hips back against the other man's, desperately trying to reach his own.

The man pulled off quickly, discarding the condom into the waste bin beside them.

Kurt whimpered at the loss of contact, before pulling up his pants. He winced as his aching cock brushed up against the rough fabric of his jeans. The man sat down on the edge bed, staring at the wall as if Kurt wasn't there. It meant he was done; it was time for Kurt to leave.

Kurt composed himself before making his way back out onto the streets of New York City. This was the place that Kurt had dreamed of ever since he was a little kid having tea parties with his father. It had symbolized his dreams, his future. It was supposed to be his escape. All he had to do was make it through the endless Hell-on-Earth that was McKinley and he would be free to live the life he was meant to live. But as he walked down the sidewalks of this city that had once meant so much to him, he barely recognized it, he barely recognized himself.

Blaine's POV

Blaine grunted as he heard his phone ring, and grunted even louder when he saw who was calling him. Sebastian. Of course.

"Okay, now you're just coming off a little clingy." Blaine said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You're right, couldn't stop thinking about you. I try to get you out of my mind, but there's just something about a failed actor with a drinking problem that really gets me going." Blaine could almost hear the smirk in Sebastian's voice.

"What do you want?" Blaine asked, annoyed. If he had to hear Sebastian talk about how pathetic he was one more time, he was gonna move states and change his phone number.

"My dad has an opening at his restaurant. Want to apply for the job?" Sebastian asked nonchalantly.

Blaine's eyebrow shot up. That was the last thing he had expected to hear. Since when did Sebastian want to help him? Ever since they had broken up, their relationship was nothing but a trade-off of demeaning remarks.

"W-what?" Blaine mumbled, still mulling it all over in his mind.

"You. My dad's restaurant. Now. Jesus, Blainers, how hung-over are you?" Sebastian asked, laughing into the phone.

Blaine nodded briefly before realizing that Sebastian couldn't see him.

"Okay," he said, hanging up the phone. This could be exactly what he needed to help his family out. He might not have to disappoint them this time.


End file.
